


4:13 am

by kittycat (amaranthhentai)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Comfort, Nightmares, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 05:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18243686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaranthhentai/pseuds/kittycat
Summary: Sometimes in your sleep you hear voices calling. Voices you thought you shut out long ago. So you wake up, and sit in the other room, trying to distract yourself.Sometimes in his sleep, your brother remembers things he both did and didn't experience. It's a mindfuck in combination with being traumatic, and he's glad to find you sitting out there.





	4:13 am

**Author's Note:**

> I think I should make it clear that this doesn't have a particular spot on the timeline. It kinda hope around and bends the rules a little. It's not really about that.

I can just barely pick up soft, careful footsteps in the hall behind me. It's with a pang of hurt that I realize these barely-noticable footsteps have been cultivated over years of necessity, but I don't let him know that as he enters the room, drawing back with a start when he sees me.   
"Did I startle you?"  
"A little, I guess. What are you doing up?"  
"I should ask the same of you."  
There's a moment of silence between us, as if we both know what to say, but not how to say it.   
I hesitate before breaching the subject.   
"Nightmare?"  
His response comes quiet, softer than I think I've ever heard.   
"You too?"  
"...Yes."  
He gives up a wordless nod, standing there in the hallway. We once again share a silence. In the moment, I envy those who can carry a conversation when they're like this. Talking to my own brother, someone who, even before I was aware of the familial connection, was so dear and close to me, seems to be hard in the face of what's invaded our sleep.   
"Do you want to sit down?" I finally ask, "I could make some tea."  
"....Yeah. That sounds nice."  
I can't help but take note of his tone when I get up. Nightmares are commonplace, given that we started this journey when we were only thirteen, no age to be going through everything we did. I often think back to before it all, when I had thought my life couldn't get much stranger, or much sadder....But that's beside the point. Dave especially had gone through enough when it all started. I wouldn't say I feel bad for him, because that would be pity and I don't do pity, but I often wish things didn't have to turn out the way they did. Maybe if I was in his place, if he grew up under the inebriated eye of our mother and not the harsh fist of our father, things would be different. Better, maybe. But I think, even were I to have been in his place, I would be forced into the role of a victim as he had been.   
He speaks up from the couch behind me as I put the kettle on.   
"What was yours about?"  
"Going grimdark." I reply, pulling out some mugs and checking the tea in the cabinet, "Herbal or caffeinated?"  
"I'm jittery enough right now without caffeine."  
"Herbal, then. What about yours?"  
"Memories of other Daves. Happens a lot."   
"Which ones?"   
"None in particular. Just another doomed Dave from another doomed timeline. At this point I feel like I should be desensitized to it."  
"Not necessarily. Is vanilla chamomile okay?"  
"As long as you don't poison me, we're good."  
I let a quiet laugh escape my mouth as I pour water over the teabags and add a little sugar,  
"Vanilla chamomile it is--" I pick up the mugs and move to sit by him "--do you want to talk about it?"  
He takes a sip, leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He's not wearing his glasses, and although nightly meetings like this have become much more common than either of us will admit, it still shakes me. The time has blurred together and yet, I feel as though it was just yesterday that I was wondering if he'd ever know how much I'd come to care about him— to put it in troll terms, how pale a hue my thoughts for him turned. What was once a curious friendship I truly didn't think would last has become a kind of kinship I daresay I no longer remember life without--  
He breaks me out of my thoughts when he speaks.  
"Not yet."  
"That's fine." I say with a smile, "Is there anything I can do to help until you're ready?"  
He takes another, larger sip, thoughtful for a moment.  
"Just don't go to sleep yet. I know it's late and you probably get little enough sleep as it is, what with your late-night reading, but--"  
"It's okay, Dave. I'll stay awake as long as you need me to."   
I see him soften in the darkness.   
"Thanks, sis."


End file.
